


Jagged ends

by sunflower_byanyothername



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deadpool being Deadpool, F/F, F/M, Flash Thompson Redemption, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Iron Man 1, Lets pretend this makes sense haha, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Things will not be as they were in 2008, Time Travel, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, eventually, tony stark is a player still
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-12 19:48:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_byanyothername/pseuds/sunflower_byanyothername
Summary: The day that Peter Parker wakes up in 2008 is the day that his entire world turns upside down.Unable to piece this new wacky world together and forced to deal with a new apparent superhero (some all-around perfect dude who calls himself the Golden Angel), some new villain who goes by the name of Hobgoblin and vaguely reminds Peter of Ned, a Flash who is actually nice to him? all the while trying to figure out how to introduce himself to Tony Stark, Peter feels that he is officially in way over his head.Add deadpool to the equation and everything is, to say the least, an absolute mess.(An AU where Peter literally wakes up in an AU and does not know what to do with himself)(It’s like 2008 in some wacky alternative universe)//This will not follow any sort of timeline of Marvel events, but will start before the first Iron Man movie





	1. Chapter 1

It was yet another uneventful day.

Although Peter should say that he was used to it by now, he still felt deflated when he crawled back into his window that night, having had only helped a few old ladies cross the street and a single young boy in catching a wayward balloon, the house dark as it was only nearing midnight and May would not be home until a few hours later.

He sighed as he collapsed into his bed, something hard digging into his spine, mask bunched in his fist, running a hand over his sweaty face. Although it was only May, the day had been a warm one, warmer than average, and he felt even more suffocated in his suit than ever.

Shifting in discomfort, he shoved a hand beneath his back and groaned when he pulled out his chemistry textbook. He had completely forgotten about his assignment that was... shoot, due first period. Hastily throwing himself off his bed, he began to scramble for his bookbag and groaned loudly when he realized that, crap, he had completely forgotten to grab it on his way home.

Although this was not so uncommon of an issue for him, it was always incredibly annoying. Especially when most of his incomplete assignments were in the bag that he so often forgot.

Grumbling to himself, he pulled on his mask and crawled out of his window once again, thankful that he still had at least an hour before his aunt came back home, but making sure to set up a decoy in his bed just in case she came any earlier.

He really had to start being more responsible... even if he would never admit so to his aunt. 

//

It did not take long for Peter to find his bookbag and, to his complete and utter relief, it was exactly where he had left it, although slightly rumpled and smelling strongly of some sort of sour substance. Patting it to maybe get rid of some of the smell and dirt that had accumulated (doing neither) during its unfortunate stay within the dumpster zone, he slung the bookbag over his right shoulder and crawled up the wall of the nearest building. Although he found it somewhat embarrassing, he always felt more comfortable off the ground than on it, somewhere where he could look over the city and feel more in control of its turnabouts.

He checked his phone. 12:26 a.m. He still had time, then. If not long. As he still had to get back home early enough to get his homework done and maybe catch a few hours of sleep.

However, before he could even make the first swing, he heard a loud outcry and his blood ran cold. Although New York was known for being a dangerous city, it was not quite as often as one might imagine that Peter got to witness any sorts of big crimes. He almost felt excited, to his later guilt, as he quickly changed his course of plans and began to swing towards the direction of the cry.

Mentally pleading thanks to his enhanced hearing, it did not take Peter long to finally get close enough to the sound, which had been followed by a series of similar sounds over the time that it had taken for Peter to swing to the location, that he could drop to the ground, silent as a mouse (he hoped). 

Pressing himself to the wall, he was momentarily startled when his bookbag halted his secrecy, but he did not have to dwell on this long as there was another cry, this time choked, and he rushed to the scene, a little foolishly, he instantly realized as he found himself exposed before a scene of four men.

There was a man laying on the ground and he caught Peter's attention first, thankfully unharmed, even as it became apparent that he had been the one screaming, his face shiny with tears. And then the rest of the men were standing before him, one man in the front, obviously the leader with a gun in his hand, and the other two hulking behind him, clearly the muscle. 

Observation lasted only for a split second, however, as the man on the ground gasped out loudly at the sight of him and, suddenly, there was a gun pointed to his chest and then the gun was being fired, and then Peter felt a sharp pain, a pain he had never felt before, and the world went dark.

All for some Chemistry assignment.


	2. Chapter 2

The world was dark.

Had it always been so dark?

Had it always been so cold?

There was a loud groan and Peter thought that it may have come from him, but he could not even summon the strength to open his eyes, let alone focus his ears on the sounds surrounding him.

Another groan and yeah, that sound was definitely coming from him. But why did it feel like there were two individual bricks sitting on the corners of his eyelids?

He licked his lips, grimacing at the dryness of the air around him, how groggy he felt. As if he had just taken a 15 hour nap.

Crap, he tried to sit up then, panic coursing through him as he remembered that he had yet to finish his chemistry assignment. What time was it? By the way he was feeling, it was definitely not the time that he was supposed to have woken up for school.

However, his movement was hindered when there was suddenly a stab of pain in the area where his heart was supposed to be and his mind was flooded with memories.

_Right_, the men. The gun. The shot. 

He had been shot.

Why was he not dead? He whimpered, the contents in his stomach rolling uncomfortably as he finally forced his eyes to open, only to close them just as quickly at the brightness of the scene around him. Squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds, he blinked rapidly to try to adjust to the light until he was finally able to look around himself. His eyes were blurry, but he could now make out some vague figures and... was he in a hospital room? 

No. He blinked again. Unless the ceilings of hospital rooms were blue, he was still in that alley. Oh gosh. Now he did sit up, hand reaching up to grasp at his wound as he stifled a whine of pain. However, where he expected to feel some huge hole, a gash, a burst of white-hot pain at the contact, there was nothing. Quickly looking down at his chest, his stomach lurched. He thought he might have gone crazy. There was absolutely nothing there. No wound, no hole. Nothing.

He blinked again. Once. Twice. Nothing. 

Now he was running his hand over his heart and even, against his better judgment, pressing down on where the wound should have been. 

Absolutely nothing.

Had the shot been blank? No. It could not have been. That was absolutely impossible because he had _felt_ the shot, felt the pain of it, felt his world disappear from before his eyes. 

There was no way that he had not been shot. And yet, he was wound-free. Even if he had somehow managed to heal over the hours that he had slept, there was no possible way that his suit would have healed. Unless?

"Karen!" He called, wincing when his voice came out a bit louder than he had intended. He cleared his aching throat.

"Yes, Peter?" The voice was as smooth as ever and he sighed, it was always so reassuring to hear the A.I.

"Can the suit repair itself?" The question sounded dumb even as he said it and he winced.

"Not that I am aware of. Is there a tear that I am unaware of?"

He deflated, deciding then that he must have been dreaming. Could it be? 

"Uh no, could you possibly replay the suit footage from last night?" what would he ever do without Karen?

After a few seconds, Karen finally replied, "I am sorry Peter, but there does not seem to be any footage from before 12:43 a.m of Tuesday, January 15th. Would you like me to play the footage from afterwards?"

Peter's stomach did a swoop as he laughed a little awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, what? It's May." 

Was he going crazy? Chills ran up his arms and he realized, to his surprise, that it was cold. Honestly freezing. He trembled as he finally looked around him. Oh no. Oh gosh. His head felt like it was going to fall off his shoulders because he was surrounded by _actual_ snow. He thought he might vomit and he could not even hear what Karen was saying as he took off his mask, desperate for some air.

He gasped once it was finally off, the bitter cold now becoming very obvious as it nipped at his face and then, finally, he did throw up, just narrowly missing his outstretched legs in his desperation.

His body racked with tremors and cramps, he felt tears sting his eyes as he grasped at the snow, now on his hands and knees. 

Okay. Okay. Okay. Either he was going crazy or maybe something had happened. Something that he could not remember. Maybe it was January. It had to be, right? And maybe he had dreamt that it was May? But no, he remembered May. He remembered taking AP tests in April, joking with Ned about failing. He remembered being excited for summer. Gosh, being excited for summer. Was it January? 

Crawling away from his vomit, he trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself against the wall as he pulled on his mask again, a little embarrassed. Had he overreacted? It was, after all, just January. Maybe he was just tired? He did recall May telling him that he looked like he should be sleeping more.

Oh gosh. May... picking up his bookbag he quickly scrambled up the wall. Once he got home, everything would make more sense. Maybe he just had a fever or something (although was that even possible?). He just had to clear his head. He wasn't sure how he'd explain to May why he wasn't home that morning, but that seemed the least of his troubles right now.

"What time is it?" he asked Karen blearily.

"It is 9:53 in the morning. Is everything okay, Peter? Your heart rate seems to have spiked." 

Peter grimaced, he really did not want Karen to call Mr. Stark if she thought he needed some sort of assistance.

"I'm alright. Just a little surprised at- uh- how late it is..." he mumbled out the last part, never really any good at lying, even if it was to an A.I.


	3. Chapter 3

Never in his life (and yeah, maybe that was not a lot, but _still_) had Peter ever crawled over his bedroom window to find it shut. 

Having had relaxed considerably on his way home, face a bit red from his little freak-out (what would Karen think?), Peter was now afflicted with a whole new kind of trouble.

Why would the window be shut? Even if May had freaked out over him not being in his bedroom that morning, why on earth would she be shutting his bedroom window? Unless... Peter's heart got caught in his throat (gosh, if this continued, then he would soon be having heart attacks at a very young age!), she knew he was spider-man and had shut his window to force him to come in through the door.

Finding that he could not force the window open without breaking it, he finally crawled back down to the ground, dejected and embarrassed at the thought of somebody seeing his slow, awkward descent (he did not often crawl backwards) and changing hastily in the closest alley he could find, entered the building through the door. Too busy worrying over what May must be thinking, he did not even notice that somebody was calling out to him before the voice was directly in front of him and he looked up to find a heavy-set black man with an exasperated look on his voice.

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you enter the building." He seemed annoyed and Peter realized that the man must have been calling out to him beforehand. He always saw him sitting at the desk, the man having had begun working there about two years ago, and they had nodded to each other on occasion. Why was he stopping him now?

"um.. I live here?" what on earth was going on? Peter thought the man might be joking and felt a bit annoyed himself, he was not eager to face his aunt's wrath, but he did not like the wait. The man now looked even more annoyed.

"Visitors need to ring up and get confirmation from a resident." He seemed to make an attempt at an apologetic look, but could not wipe the annoyance off his face. 

Peter sighed. What on earth was going on today? However, he decided not to argue as he did not want to annoy the man even further and cause himself to get kicked out (for whatever reason).

"Right, okay," he followed the man to his desk where he sat down and Peter leaned over, "my name is Peter Parker, I live with my aunt in room 25B. You know May Parker? Ring any bells?" He said this kind of jokingly as he had seen the man's gaze linger on his aunt on more than a few occasions. Standing straight, he made to walk away, but the man's face did not light up with any sort of recognition or mortification as he had expected. Instead, now the man looked angry.

"Listen, kid. I don't know what you're getting from this, but there is no May Parker living in this building. I know the couple that lives in 25B and I would like to kindly request that you leave them the hell alone. Or else I will not hesitate to contact the authorities." there was no humor in his voice, no playful twinkle in his eye. Peter's heart caught in his throat for what felt like the tenth time and for a solid minute he did not know what to say. The man, whom Peter had known, did not seem to have any patience for this as he reached for his walkie-talkie and Peter choked in how quickly he spoke.

"Wait wait! Are you serious? I can't- I can't tell if you're joking or not? Me and my aunt have been living here for the past 9 years... honestly! I promise, just... I can show you! Just let me go up- ah. Wait a second! I can call her! Just-" he stumbled over his words as he turned his pockets inside out for his phone and then let his bookbag fall to the floor, rummaging through it shakily on his knees, his heart jumping once he finally made contact. The man was staring at him in total loss once he finally stood up, showing him his phone as if to reassure him. 

"Look I'll just-" gosh. He was trembling so hard. What on earth was going on? He could not wrap his mind around this day. It literally felt as if somebody was playing some sort of joke on him. 

Letting out a loud 'aha' once he found May's number, he pressed the button and tried his hardest to steady his breath once it began to ring. Gosh, he could not wait to see May come down these stairs and show this dude who's boss.

The man looked at him expectantly as the phone continued to ring... and ring... and ring... and then it stopped. Peter let out a shaky laugh, trying to hide how his hand was trembling.

"Ah... you know how it is..." and he rang again. And again. 

By the fourth ring, there was a look akin to pity and... discomfort on the man's face.

"Listen, kid. Are you sure you're at the right building? I have never heard of a May Parker in my life. And neither have I ever seen you. Trust me, kid. I have been working in this building for six years now..."

Six years? Right building? He had to be joking, but as Peter wildly searched the man's eyes, he could see nothing in them if not seriousness, and now the man's hand was slowly inching towards his phone...

"No no. Don't- Don't call anybody, please. I'll just- I'll leave. I'll leave." And then he was shakily zipping up his bookbag and rushing out of the building. Back into the alley he went and this time he did not care that he broke the window, barely able to contain the tremors in his body once he finally landed in the room, and now his vision was blurry. What on earth? This was not his room. No, it was a child's room and there was a baby. An actual baby in a crib where his bed used to be. 

"What? What? What is going on?" he whispered to himself, the world beginning to turn for him as he grasped at the wall, at the edge of the crib. Oh no. Why was there a baby in his room? Why was it January? Why did the security guard not remember him? Was it the right building? He instantly shoved himself towards the window at the thought, eyes searching the scene outside for any sorts of discrepancies between what he saw every single day when he looked out of his window and now.

Some trees were a little... smaller than he remembered. And maybe he had never seen that red bench to the right of his window but, besides these small differences, it was the same view he was met with every day! What had gone wrong? Why was there snow on the ground? 

He shivered then, remembering himself, and stifled a groan when he heard the baby wake up at the cold air that had entered the room. Now the baby was whimpering and Peter's blood stilled when footsteps began making way towards the room, a soft murmur of a voice, and Peter just barely managed to leap out of the window, grasping at the space directly to the left, as the door opened and then there was a loud cry.

"Michael! Oh God! Michael come here quick!" 

Tears blurring his vision, unable to even feel guilty (although he would later) for disturbing this little family, Peter quickly crawled up to the roof before the woman could find him outside of it. There he collapsed into a ball, dry heaving as his vision began to blur. He wrapped his arms around himself as if in a flimsy attempt at protection. Praying that he was dreaming, that maybe he had just made a mistake. Had he forgotten something? How could he forget something so vital as where he lived? Why on earth was this happening to him? 

It was only when he stopped hyperventilating a few minutes later that he realized Karen's silence. 

Voice a mere croak he called out for her.

No response.

He pulled off the mask then, rubbing at his eyes. He had not even realized that he had begun crying until he felt the wetness on his cheek. Could his tears have messed with the system? Flipping it inside out he blearily traced his hand over the thin material. It seemed fine. He put it on again, feeling like he might start crying again if Karen left him too.

"Yes, Peter?" the voice was garbled and Peter began to sob again anyways, so much for "masculinity".

"I don't know... I don't know what's going on..." and then he spent another few minutes just sobbing into his mask. Gosh, he was pathetic, getting comfort from a robot.

When his inner well of tears finally seemed to have dried out, he lay for a good 20 minutes just gazing at the snow, before slowly sitting up, shoulder aching from the uncomfortable position and the cold... tears stung his eyes again (where were they even coming from?)

Blinking them away, he tore off his mask, gosh he was an idiot. It was midday and he was just laying on this rooftop sobbing like a child! Resolute, he pulled himself to his feet. Okay. He could not find aunt May and his last memory was of it being late Spring. Clearly somebody had tampered with his memory. Aha! That had to be it. Maybe he had suffered amnesia? Maybe he never did even live here. Maybe his current memories were all faulty and he was just acting like a child, exactly as whoever had messed with him wanted. 

Although the thought of his home, the memories of his room and his aunt... their kitchen... her terrible cooking, he sniffled, although they seemed too real to have been tampered with, he tried to reassure himself with the thought that it was just his confusion and... whatever had happened to him... that was making everything feel so wrong. It had to be... Anything else would be... well. He did not even want to think about it.

He looked around now, almost suspicious, feeling just a little bit better now that he was finally doing something besides crying. Okay. First things first, he pulled his bookbag closer to him and began searching through its contents for some clues, pulling out his incomplete chemistry assignment, his heart doing a swoop at the confirmation of this memory. He looked at the date and oh boy, maybe there was no hope for him. 

May 12th 2017

Hands shaking, he decided that okay, maybe whoever had tampered with his memory was very meticulous and... okay. That was definitely Peter's handwriting. Trying to calm his breaths, those that were now becoming pants, he looked further through his bookbag when a thought suddenly hit.

Aha! Maybe he could check his school! There was no way those memories were fake! And if it was Tuesday, then it was a school day! Excited, he put his mask on once again and grabbed his bookbag, hoping that this would be the last time he was disappointed that day.

Because he just did not know how he would be able to handle that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3 thanks for reading... please tell me if you see any mistakes or have any sorts of criticism... or the opposite. Although these updates were rather quick, I cannot be trusted to keep up this schedule so....


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I'm pretty sure that Stark's home in Iron Man 1 is somewhere in California? I'm just going to pretend that it is located in the Stark tower here

The school was silent once Peter got to it, to his slight surprise, and he looked around warily once he finally entered, spiderman suit stowed safely away in his bookbag.

Smiling apologetically at the secretary, who was now eyeing him with suspicion, he jogged over and shuffled slightly on his feet.

"Good afternoon, uh can I get a late pass?" 

He cringed when the woman glanced at the clock on the wall besides him with a hmph, it was nearly 1 pm and school ended at 2:45.

"Sure cutting it close, hm?" she put out her palm for his ID and he gave it to her almost eagerly, finally feeling as if things might get back to normal.

Although it sounded a lot like a child trying to escape a bad dream, Peter was hoping that spending the day at school might fix everything that had been going on with him elsewhere because school was... well, school. It was such a generic place that, he prayed, it had to have not been meddled with.

After a few seconds of clicking keys, the woman turned to look at him with a frown and Peter felt his hope shrivel.

"I'm sorry, but my computer does not seem to recognize your student number." she studied his ID for a second, confused, because it was, in fact, a midtown high ID. 

"How come you have an ID, but not a working number, hm?" 

"I'm... not quite sure actually. C-could you check again? I'm missing out on chemistry with Mr. Steu right now, and you know how he is about attendance," Peter forced out an awkward laugh after his last comment, crossing his fingers in hopes of that the secretary had simply made some spelling error.

The woman only gazed at him, ID still grasped in her hand. She looked both puzzled and suspicious now, lifting her chin.

"I'm sorry, who? There is no teacher at Midtown high with the name of _Steu_. Are you playing some sort of trick on me, boy?" The woman was now adopting a similar look to what the security guard at his apartment had been sporting when he sent Peter out and Peter just about threw himself to the floor.

Trying to keep his voice steady, he thanked her and turned around, head feeling as if it had been wrapped in plastic, not stopping even when he heard the woman call out to him and then stand up to alert some admin of his strange appearance. 

Refusing to wait around for somebody to slap a pair of handcuffs on him, he quickened his pace into a run and bolted across the field until he was at the subway, gaze now too blurry to even make out any street names. He recognized offhandedly that he had left his ID with the secretary, but could not find it in himself to even care at the moment. Who was he to this world if not a Peter Parker that lived on 22nd street with his Aunt May? Looking back, he realized that his reaction might not have been the best to his situation, perhaps he could have simply relaxed and looked at the possibilities, instead of crying, contacted Mr. Stark...

Mr. Stark! Heart rate spiking, he skidded to a stop at the realization of what he should have done the second he woke up. How was he so stupid? Even if Mr. Stark happened to not remember him, the thought forming a knot in his stomach, he would certainly have some idea of what to do with his situation as the man was an absolute genius! 

Relieved smile, against his better judgments, sliding over his face, he did a 180 and began running back in the direction he came from

//

It was almost funny the feeling that Peter got in his chest when he was finally standing before the Avengers tower.

Squinting as he gazed up the tall building, he swallowed down a lump in his throat.

Now what? 

He looked around, nervously adjusting the straps on his bookbag as he thought this over. He hoped that he did not look too suspicious.

Embarrassing as it was, he had never actually been in the Avengers tower. Although he had always wished that Mr. Stark would someday invite him in, he knew that it was nonsensical and not something that Peter could request or demand. He was, after all, a fresh-face. Of course, Mr. Stark had trusted Peter with fighting Captain America, but this was the_ Avengers tower_. Peter really could not blame Mr. Stark for keeping him away.

Now, however, he licked his lips, finally making up his mind. He did not really have a choice, after all. 

A little bit excited, even despite his terrible situation, he crossed the sidewalk and entered the building, only realizing that he was holding his breath once he had crossed the threshold.

Eyes widening, he looked around the room. He was actually inside the Avengers tower! And he actually had a reason for being here! Puffing up his chest, he took confident strides towards the welcome desk. 

However, leave it up to Peter to enter the Avengers tower without any sort of plan. Deflating, he stood like a gaping fish for a few seconds once he realized that he really did not know what to say to the currently distracted woman behind the desk. 

"uh- ma'am?" damn it. He had come in there with the intention of finally figuring things out and now he was acting like some... prepubescent kid. 

The woman took her time and when she finally looked up at him, it was with a look of utter disinterest.

"School tours are on Thursdays only and internship forms are on the desk," she nodded to a stack of papers and Peter started, a bit starstruck. Well this was awkward.

"uh- thank you..." what on earth was he doing? 

"but I-I uh actually need to see Mr. Stark."

The woman raised a brow at that and Peter almost groaned out loud. Gosh, he really should have come up with some sort of plan.

"I uh- I know him! I actually already, um intern for him? Uh- my name is Peter? Peter Parker?" he did not sound convincing at all, but the woman seemed to give him the benefit of the doubt, even as her face was the reflection of apprehension, and turned to her computer.

This moment felt a bit too reminiscent to Peter and he began to feel uncomfortable now. It was doubtless that the woman would not find him in her records as Peter did not even know if Mr. Stark had ever listed him as an actual intern. Besides, how likely was it that Mr. Stark would remember him anyways? The thought pained him and he wet his lips, again, hoping that he would not have to suffer confusion much longer.

When the woman finally looked up at him, he no longer felt the relief of earlier, and turned away numbly before she could relay the words that were sitting within the dark hue of her displeased eyes.

He was so stupid, so so stupid. What did he think? What did he think would happen? That his and Mr. Stark's relationship would have been so earth-shattering that fate would allow it to remain in this war-zone that was his life now? _Stupid_. He shook his head as he walked, tears blurring his vision. So so stupid. There was no reason for Mr. Stark to give any damn for him, some boy who had been only lucky enough to have ever been noticed by the older... much greater man. Whether he remembered him or not, what were they? The greatest hero on earth, Iron man, _Tony Stark_ and ...Spider-man, there was no face behind his mask because his face meant nothing to this world. It just did not make any sense for destiny to link the courses of their lives. 

Things were not looking up for Peter.

//

It was nearly dusk by the time Peter no longer felt the sting of tears a constant force behind his eyes.

He was sitting, in his normal clothes, on the edge of some or another building. Was he, perhaps, being a bit unsafe in exposing his face? Maybe, but he was numb now. Soundless and... cold.

_So_ cold. He shivered, annoyed as a snowy breeze pulled him out of his trance. 

What time was it? Would he be at home? If it were not for this... occurrence?

He blinked rapidly, looking up towards the cloudy sky. Gosh, what had he done to deserve this? Was this some sort of punishment from God?

Although his parents were religious and had instilled a layer of piety in Peter's young life, something that he had once cherished, May never really kept up any of such values, so he had abstained from it as well. It was not like he needed it, right? 

The sky was darkening now and it no longer even mattered.

"God...," his voice was hoarse, "if you're out there... please..."

"Make this nightmare go away."

He blinked again and a hot tear trailed down his face.

What was this? His 6th time crying? He rubbed it away, and found himself pleased in a detached way when no other tears followed. 

Was this what he was to be reduced to now? A crying mess? He could not even feel guilty for his self-pity. Who else was there for him to pity?

"It's just me now," he whispered to himself.

_It's just me now..._


End file.
